Equivalencies

 

I'm here, and in love. But not with the guy who made me heart-shaped eggplant (pictured below) one block down - though he clearly wants to be my boyfriend while I live in this neighborhood this week.

 

Before we go any further, THIS NEIGHBORHOOD. Months ago, as I was browsing airbnb.com, I found ad add for a "wooden house in a local district." I stalled and stalled on booking my trip, but when I finally did weeks later, I booked it around when the wooden house was available (the week of July 15). Ever since, my finger has lingered over the "cancel" button on a number of occasions. When your passion is finding the back alley places and you already have one nirvana under your belt (Nguyen Canh Chan, District One, Ho Chi Minh City), you wonder if you qualify to actually be so lucky again. You wonder if staying in a "local" neighborhood could be the equivalent of a "cozy" home in real estate language. You wonder if walking 30 minutes to see the sights will be a drag. Really, you just never, ever know until you are actually there.

 

 Well, let me describe THIS NEIGHBORHOOD. It's filled with bay-windowed wooden houses, which are going extinct in Istanbul. The houses line a windy, cobblestone street (which is driven through by crazy trucks and taxis and you had better get out of the way, even if you are a playing child or an old lady wearing a head scarf...) and the area is filled with produce markets, shoe shiners, men on bikes hauling kebab grills, tea houses filled with bean bag chairs, a BAKLAVA shop directly across the street from my door, and a restaurant about one block down, which served me this:

Yes, it was delicious. And, yes, it was pretty much an eggplant equivalent to Tanya's baklava right-out-of-the-oven. And yes, this neighborhood is pretty much the Istanbul equivalent to what we found in Ho Chi Minh City. I know that a Katherine equivalent, a Thuy and Thanh equivalent, and a Nam equivalent are just simply too much to ask for, so I'm going to be grateful for what I have.

My eggplant suitor told me to, "Eat slowly. Enjoy." So I did.

This bread shop is right across the street, and they make wood-fired loaves. I bought one to go with the fresh feta, olives and yogurt that are now stocked in my fridge. The guy threw in a roasted green pepper, also wood-fired.

 

 

 

The neighborhood sits about two blocks off of a busy street, which parallels the Golden Horn - the water that separates the southern, old Istanbul from the northern, gentrified Istanbul. I walked along the water when I first arrived and was treated to a lightning storm (it's not deathly hot, hallelujah) on the water. The street is lined with more comfy-seated tea shops, so I stopped at this one and had sage tea:

 

And found these two in the street, playing with the most universal of toys:

 

I asked them if I could take the picture, and the one on the right - the negotiator - pointed to the bag of plums in my hand. So I gave them each one.

 

Other Nguyen Canh Chan equivalencies: ants attacked my bread the moment I put it on the counter. Note taken. Everyone asks how old I am and how much I am paying to rent this house. Note: remember, it's cultural. Non-equivalencies:  People don't stare at me like I am a walking attraction here; I am not a giant. But people are friendly and inviting, and want you to try their food. A definite equivalency.

 

I can hear the call to prayer as I type. The man who is renting me this apartment (which has a kitchen, two bedrooms and a bathroom with a bide) suggested that I sleep in the back bedroom. "It is Ramadan, so a man with a loud drum will walk down the street early in the morning." I guess I kind of want that, so I may sleep next to the street.

 

To summarize: I scored. I am happy. I had delicious eggplant on Day One. Now I will take some Benadryl and collapse and fall to sleep dreaming of spice markets and the Bazaar district and a very loud Ramadan drummer alarm, which will wake me to experience all of it.